He took her hand again.
And again that perilously sweet silence fell between them.
At last, "Promise me, Paul!" she said.
"I will—what is it?"
"Promise me to forget anything I may say or do to-night ... not to think hard of me, however rashly I may act! I'm not accountable, really! I'm liable to say ...anything! I feel it in my blood!"
"I understand, Opal! See! the winds are boisterous and unruly enough. You may be as rash and reckless as you will!"
Suddenly the wind blew her against his breast. The perfume of her hair, and all the delicious nearness of her, intoxicated him. He laughed a soft, caressing little lover-laugh, and raising her face to his, kissed her lips easily, naturally, as though he had the right. She struggled, helplessly, as he held her closely to him, and would not let her go.
"You are a—" She bit her lip, and choked back the offensive word.
"A—what? Say it, Opal!"
"A—a—brute! There! let me go!"